


Broke Your Glasses, But it Broke the Ice

by RIC (prussia)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Comedy, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prussia/pseuds/RIC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prussia just wants to spend a nice relaxing day, playing outdoors, and throwing snowballs. </p><p>It's not <em>his</em> fault Austria's face gets in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broke Your Glasses, But it Broke the Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Written December 1st, 2014, for a Winter Art Challenge on tumblr.
> 
> Holiday-themed PruAus, with a brief appearance by Germany, and a mild allusion to GerIta.
> 
> I didn't have a title for this one, originally, so I stole a line from a Modest Mouse song, entitled 'Broke'.

On a mound of white, Prussia stood in his old green coat, leaning over, his fist clutched tight to his chest, like a pitcher in the center of a baseball diamond. America's pastime emulated. And he raised his hand to his lips, and kissed the wad of packed snow before swinging back his arm; before aiming, swinging forward, and letting go.

The snowball whizzed through the air, with Prussia grinning, keeping his wide eyes affixed not to his target, but to the ammunition.

Blue sky served as a background. Clouds cleared from the horizon. The snowstorm the night prior long passed.

And _'Smack!'_ The snowball crumbled upon Austria's forehead. Right dead in the center, knocking the glasses from his face.

Prussia shot his gaze to Austria's wet weary face; the former wishing he had a painter present to capture the image for posterity.

"HA!" Prussia screamed. "Look at you, Fussy Pants! I got you right in the kisser!!"

Austria stood blind; his eyes shut, and he licked his lips. Snow, busted into bits, stuck to his red cheeks, and a few spots melted, dripping down to look much akin to tears.

"Yes," said Austria, as he managed to open one eye, and hoped Prussia didn't think he was winking. "You must be so proud of yourself," he mumbled. "Hitting an unarmed man."

"Oh?" said Prussia, brushing his hands down the front of his coat, then peering down at them. His gray gloves soaked, and his fingers stinging beneath the fleece. "Well, you don't have to cry about it," he teased. "Besides, you shouldn't have walked onto my battlefield unannounced!! - You got what you deserved..."

He glanced up to Austria, then peered down at his hands again; pulling the gloves from his fingers with his teeth. "Burns like Hell," he said, dropping the gloves to the ground, by way of opening his mouth, as he used the tail of his scarf like a dishcloth; trying to dry and warm his flesh. Bluish skin, and the wool scarf seemed to scratch worse than ever.

"You're still playing soldier, I see," Austria said, not knowing what else to say, and it didn't matter: Prussia didn't respond; he fluffed at his scarf, and stomped across the snow-covered yard towards Austria, who was lingering near the back door of Germany's house.

"I only came outside to tell you," Austria said, "supper is almost ready," he sniffed. "Your brother wants you inside."

"Oh he does," Prussia said, sort of mocking. "Well why didn't he come out and get me himself?" he asked, as he grew closer to Austria. The latter wiping his cheeks with the black sleeves of his heavy coat.

Prussia laughed. "Was he scared I'd attack him in one of my super sneaky brilliant sneak-attacks?!" he gushed. "Because I would have," Prussia smirked, and bounced around; his breath like cigarette smoke, and his eyes narrowed as he boasted, "I could take both of you!! I'm king of the snow-covered battlefield..."

"It's a yard," said Austria, bewildered. Glancing about the lawn; both eyes open, but pained and half-squinting. The late afternoon sun still unkind, despite it due to set. Perhaps the sun reflecting off the blanket of snow was to blame for the harsh light of day. Almost night, and surely it was time to put playthings away...a shovel parked near the mound on which Prussia had stood. A shovel stuck in the snow like an ostrich with its neck plunged in dirt.

"You have no imagination, Austria," Prussia scolded. "Can't you see my awesome army back there?" Prussia asked, waving his arm as if he were about to introduce the next guest on a talk show. Waiting for some celebrity or singing group to join him on stage. 'And tonight I have a very special guest for you all! - A pack of ghosts!! - Dead soldiers!! - Led by a dead King, and me! Awesome Prussia!!'

But he didn't speak the grand introduction. He merely grinned wider than ever; his nose scrunched, and he wiggled his brows.

Of course the whole charade did little to impress Austria, who stared at the far side of the yard with an 'Okay, Weirdo, whatever you say' expression painted on his freezing face.

"Prussia," he began; a tone akin to a parent ready to give a long lecture. Tired of scolding, and tired of fussing. Tired of bartering, and trying to talk sense into an unruly child. "You know there's no one back there," Austria continued. "There's no army. You have no war," he sighed. "You're just out here making snowballs by yourself."

"No I'm not!" Prussia blurted. "You're here...I mean," and he laughed a bit embarrassed; his voice growing shrill, "It's not like I want you to be, or anything," and his speech slowed, growing more enunciated, "but as long as you ARE here, you might as well play with me, right?" And he thrust out his palms, holding them flat. "Look, I'm unarmed now, too!" he said, nodding towards his hands. "You can have the first shot."

"You've already had it," Austria said. "Remember?" And he pointed towards his face, glaring hard at Prussia's cheapening grin. "You want to play fair, though, I will take one shot at you, at least," and Austria leaned over, scooping up snow with his leather-gloved fingers.

Standing straight again, Austria balled the snow and made a fist. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," Prussia nodded; a manic look in his eyes, as if he were a teenage boy about to be led into the backroom at a strip club; the upstairs confines of a brothel. Some trip to Netherlands's Red Light District. And surely, he and Austria had both made such a venture. - Or hell, maybe not.

A couple of childish men; childish in the way they fought with one another; and one of them childlike, in that Peter Pan 'Never grow up' sort of way. Surely it was endearing...

"You slam it right into my face!" Prussia commanded. "Get a good shot, all right? I know you've got puny arms, but come on, Austria," and he pointed to his nose, "see if you can bend this thing all out of shape."

"Your nose?!" Austria asked, and wanted to laugh, but shook his head to hush it away. "You're...strange, Prussia," he said.

Prussia laughed for the both of them, and held out his arms to his sides: outstretched as if he were blocking a path. And he leaned forward and shut his eyes, as if awaiting a kiss.

"Go on," Prussia said. "Throw it hard!!"

Austria packed the snow tight, and upheld his arm, raising one leg, as he tilted back. Ready to throw a fastball at Prussia's forehead. "I'm going," he said, his voice uneasy, and his body unsteady. Not used to physical activity; a lazy overgrown house-cat. "You sure you want this?"

"I want you to shut up and throw that thing at my damn face this instant!!" Prussia shouted, and opened his eyes, just in time, and _'SPOOMF!!'_ \-- the snowball struck him right in the mouth. That big trash-talking mouth of his, filled with snow, and so Prussia spit.

"Bleck!" he said. "This stuff tastes horrible, Austria!! - What did you do? Pee in it?!"

"WHY ON EARTH WOULD I PEE IN IT?!"

Austria's red cheeks went redder, and he might as well have been slapped. That old offended-look Prussia knew well enough to paint a picture of himself. For posterity! By memory. Blindfolded. Surely he saw Austria's Angry Face in his sleep; surely it gave him nightmares. Or hell, knowing Prussia, he'd dub such a vision 'Pleasant Dreams'.

"You have terrible aim, Austria," he grumbled, spitting out more snow. "Terrible aim, and puny arms," he smiled. "But you know, part of the reason I'm so awesome is," he prattled, while bending to the snow-covered yard, "I'm going to let you get a running start for round two!"

He grabbed a fistful of snow, and sprung to his feet. Making sounds like a machine gun with his mouth, as he threw snowball after snowball at Austria; falling to the ground, and jumping up again, making half-assed snowballs: reloading his weapon, and lunging towards Austria with each shot. None of which hit their target, for Austria ran after the machine gun sounded. Ran towards the house, with his glasses still missing from his face, and...

_'Crunch.'_

"Oh shit," Prussia said, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Lifting one foot -- one black combat boot -- from the snow, and he might as well have stepped in something obscene: the way he peered down at the wake of his footfall; at the footprint, and whatever had forced that stomach-turning crunch of a death-rattle in its center. "You, uh...didn't like those glasses too much, did you?" he laughed, and when he didn't receive an answer, "Right, Fussy Pants??" he asked, peering up and towards the house, to see Austria huddled on the doorstep; their game at a standstill, and whatever smile Austria may have gleamed while running from the machine gun: it faded in an instant.

"Why?" Austria whined. "You didn't break them, did you??"

And Prussia fiddled with his scarf, letting one last note of laughter emit, as he watched Austria trek across the yard. Retracing his steps. The footprints in the snow: Austria followed their messy path back to the center of the playing field. The battlefield. To meet the enemy solider with the one true casualty at his feet.

"You did break them!!" Austria shouted. "Prussia," he whimpered, and his voice broke to a whisper, "How could you??"

"What did I do?! - It's your fault!!" Prussia snapped. "Leaving valuable glasses in the yard like that," and he 'tsked' twice, shaking his head, "How irresponsible, Austria. Really - I'm surprised at you!" and he teased, "I bet you don't even have a coupon to buy another pair."

Austria huffed: once out of taking offense, and then again, several times, in smaller exhales, almost like a miniature machine gun firing, and smoke puffed from his mouth, as if he were a tiny tank engine. 'I think I can, I think I can...' as he stomped the remaining paces, wanting to outstretch his arms, and raise his hands, and wring Prussia's scarfed neck.

But of course he didn't.

Austria glared at him a moment: Prussia, with that sheepish grin. And Austria sighed, gazing down at the dead body. "My poor glasses," he lamented.

"Ah, shut up, Austria," Prussia said. "You know, if you've been a good boy this year, Santa Finland will bring you a new pair!!" And Prussia smiled wide, like a little boy who truly believed in Christmas miracles. And he shut one eye, winking as he spoke, "And if you were a naught boy, then..." Prussia leaned close, "then maybe Santa Prussia will buy you a new pair."

Austria smiled. "Well," he said, raising his chin, "I'm glad to hear it then," and he straightened his coat in hopes of regaining his dignity; his composure. "I'll be glad to see Finland. I'd hate to see YOU coming down my chimney."

"I'll come through your bedroom window if you don't watch it!" spat Prussia. "You don't want me in your chimney?! Well, fine. I don't want in your dusty old chimney anyway!!"

"And what's wrong with MY chimney?! - If it's so dirty, why don't you sweep it?!! Make yourself useful, you..."

And the two bickered until the back door flew open; Germany peeking his head outside, then bursting onto the back-step, wearing a pink frilly apron with the words 'Kiss the Cook' written in Italian; printed on its bib. "ARE YOU TWO STILL PLAYING OUT HERE?!" Germany shouted. "You're like children!!" he scolded, then sighed. "Good grief."

Prussia smiled at Austria, and said of Germany, "He ruins all our fun...doesn't he, Fussy Pants?"

Beaming at the man beside him. His old friend. And Prussia knelt down, scooping up the 'dead body' with his frostbitten hand. "He was a good soldier...Poor Four Eyes."

"Yes," said Austria, playing along. "Poor Soldier Four Eyes."

"He was a general," Prussia corrected.

"BUT YOU JUST CALLED HIM A SOLDIER!" Austria screamed.

Germany, overhearing the odd conversation, wanted no part of it, and reentered the house, slamming the door behind him. 'Let them freeze out there...let their dinner get ice cold!' he thought, as he grabbed the front of the apron, and ripped it clean from his body, tearing the fabric at its thin strings.

"I think he gave up on us," Austria noted to Prussia.

"Ah, West has no imagination either," Prussia said, as he rose to his feet, cradling the broken glasses in his hands. "You want to bury General Poor Four Eyes?" Prussia asked, and added, almost in singsong, "We could play funeral..."

Austria nodded. "Fine, but I get to be the priest."

"And what can I do?" Prussia asked.

Austria took a deep breath, and motioned with his chin towards the shovel parked near the snow mound.

"You can be the gravedigger," Austria said.

Blowing out like cigarette smoke exhaled, as the sun hid itself behind the trees. The day dim, and the afternoon dead. Austria followed as Prussia marched to the snow mound. The former knowing damn well he could whimper and whine and beg for Germany to fix his glasses: either pay to have them fixed, or break out a bottle of glue, and try and repair them himself. Hell, if Germany could make coffee out of dandelions, surely he could repair General Poor Four Eyes!

"The poor misbegotten soul," Austria began his eulogy, "he died for his country."

"You suck at funerals," Prussia said, pulling the shovel from the snow. "Hurry up, too! I'm hungry!!"

Austria spoke in soft poetic verses, as Prussia plunged the shovel's head back into the snow, digging a small hole for Austria's broken pair of glasses.

"Here lies General Poor Four Eyes," Prussia said, capping off the funeral procession. "We barely knew him."

"I knew him plenty!" snapped Austria.

"Yeah, yeah..." mumbled Prussia, tossing a scoopful of snow onto the 'body'.

"May he rest in peace," Prussia finished. "And may Austria be a naughty boy," he joked, turning back, to grin and wink at the 'priest'.

"What on earth did you say that for??" Austria asked, his mouth left agape. His eyes shining: unhidden by glasses he didn't need. Glasses in a grave; long-dead, or at least injured.

"Because then I can shimmy down your chimney and give you a new pair on Christmas Eve!!"

Austria laughed. "Prussia....really," he said. "You don't have to buy me a new pair of glasses just to come and visit me on Christmas Eve, you know."

"But I _want_ to climb down your chimney!" Prussia said. "Just think how good a chimney sweep I'll be if I use my body!!" He reached out, and wrapped his arm around Austria's shoulder, as if discussing a business proposition. "Prussia's Chimney Sweeping Shimmy Service!"

Austria glanced at Prussia's equally red cheeks, and cozied-up close to the 'gravedigger' for warmth.

Prussia squeezed at Austria's shoulder, and grinned. "I could even tie a blanket around me, and just think how clean your chimney will get then, Austria!"

"Do you think you'll fit?" Austria joked. "If you get stuck in there, I might be tempted to light a fire beneath you..."

Prussia's eyes went wide, and his voice broke, "You wouldn't dare," he whispered. Imagining Austria reaching into the fireplace, and up the chimney, to unlace Prussia's black combat boots, removing them with a swift grasp, and roasting Prussia's feet like two marshmallows for making smores on a campfire.

"You ARE naughty, Austria!" Prussia said.

But the shocked-look faded, as the two neared the house. Stepping along slow, and in unison. Prussia letting his arm slide down the length of Austria's coat, and he spanked Austria on the ass. "Naughty Fussy Pants. - No presents from Finland!" Prussia laughed.

"You're one to talk," said Austria. "Pelting innocent men in the face with snowballs..."

"I'll do it again, if you don't watch it," said Prussia.

"Plus, you killed the General," Austria said.

"Yeah...but you liked it," Prussia said. "You like playing with me, and you know it."

Austria hummed, as if amused or contented, or at the comfort of stepping onto the doorstep; at the sight of Prussia opening the door for them; turning the knob with his free hand, and pushing the door open with his shoulder. Pulling Austria onto the threshold, and the warm air from within the home greeting their cold bodies. Wet-by-snow faces. Red, stinging cheeks.

"You might be right," said Austria, gazing into the house, and then back to Prussia.

"Of course I'm right!" Prussia boasted. "I'm always right, Austria...one day you'll learn that."

And Prussia leaned in closer, but tilted back his head, as if peering down his nose at Austria. Peering down his nose, not bent out of shape, but to study the man in front of him. Placing his hands on Austria's waist; hands he soon removed back to his own coat, and shoved them into his pockets in case they got tempted again; pulled them away, thanks to Germany reappearing. Stomping into the room to inspect just where on earth the cold draft was coming from.

"Oh," said Germany. "It's finally you two."

Prussia smiled. "Yep," he said. "It's finally us."


End file.
